He slammed his gloved fist down on the control panel of The Hyperion in a frustrated rage. He quickly clicked a switch on the panel, to patch a message in for his superior, Arcturus Mengsk. The screen was black; he was not letting him through.
"Sarah," he mouthed her name, it seeming to leave him dull and without feeling.
As if answering his call, a face crackled in the viewing monitor of the Hyperion's console.
"Gentlemen, you have done very well," the smiling face of Arcturus began, "but remember we still have a job to do. The seeds of a new empire have been sewn."
Jim furrowed his brow and chewed on the inside of his lower lip in anger.
"And if we hope to reap what we-"
"To hell with you!" he shouted into the microphone, his emotion overcoming his judgment.
At this, he furrowed his brow.
"You are making a terrible mistake, Marshal, don't even think to cross me!" he replied with an acidic voice, "I have sacrificed too much to let this fall apart."
"You mean like you sacrificed Kerrigan?" Jim quickly shot back, "and all those men on Tarsonis carrying out your orders?"
"Enough!" Mengsk snapped into his microphone.
He was silent for a moment. He took a deep sigh, seeming to want to be as calm as possible.
"You will regret that," he said, an odd smile creeping up his mouth, "you don't seem to realize your situation here. I will not be stopped. Not by you, or the Confederacy, or the Protoss, or anyone!"
Mengsk wasn't finished speaking, but Jim flipped his communication monitor off the same. He had heard enough.
He revved up the power on his ship and broke away from Mengsk's battalion. They would not shoot at him; he knew it would mean a bad reputation to have a Marshal of the Terran race killed by his command. Kerrigan was different, he thought to himself, she was just a Ghost. A guinea pig of bio-technological engineering. She would not be missed by many.
Another person came into view on his monitor. It was the face of his commander.
"Marshal, intelligence tells me that in order to escape this sector cleanly, we will need to break through the Confederate forces stationed in this area. Their primary weapon, called an Ion Cannon, must be put off line."
He grinned at the man looking back at him in the monitor. At least he had the support of his superior, he thought to himself.
"Roger," Jim answered back, "we'll be out of here before you know it."
What was he escaping to do anyway? Kerrigan was dead, Mengsk has all but become to next dictator, and the Zerg overran many of their homeworlds. He shook his head. He had to, somehow, put an end to what Mengsk was doing (or undoing) in Terran worlds and destroy the Zerg infestation.
He clicked a few switches on the panel for decent onto the small platform that harbored the Ion Cannon. As the Hyperion came closer to touching down, he reached for his rifle and stood from his chair.
"Damn it!" he said to himself before leaving, "I shouldn't have let her go alone."
Night had settled on the platform where Sarah Kerrigan was struggling with life. She had fled the Zerg successfully, but she faced even a greater challenge before her; surviving a long, heat less night. She shivered uncontrollably and pulled her legs in closer to herself. She probably wasn't going to make it, she thought to herself. Nights in space could last anywhere from three minutes to months. Despite her current situation, she smiled. She had successfully eluded an entire army of enraged, monstrous creatures, just to die from something as trivial as cold. If only her space suit was still in tact, she thought to herself.
Then, thinking about it, she reached into a compartment on her leg plate and pulled out the remaining Stim Pack, the one the marine had given to her. She eyed the liquid inside the glass syringe. Maybe it would give her some warmth? It had sped up her reflexes for a short while before, her mind answered back. It wasn't as if she had much of an alternative.
She took the plastic cap off the tip, exposing the needle. She was just about to jab it into herself when something stopped her. It was a light in the sky. She placed the syringe carefully on the ground and shakily stood to observe the strange glow. Although it started out faint, it grew steadily with intensity. As it grew closer, she could make out a dark outline. It was a ship, and it was headed straight for her! She grinned happily as she began waving down her savior. Finally, the Dropships had arrived.
As it approached, however, she saw that it was not any ship that could be built by Terran's hands. She quickly stopped her actions and fear panged at her spine when the realization had struck her. It was a Protoss shuttle. The Protoss, the ones that they were put here to fight and exterminate. They would no doubt not be keen on helping one that killed their race.
She heard it's engine draw close; she had to find somewhere to hide. It had probably already spotted her, and was coming in for the kill. Shuttles carried with them mighty Protoss warriors, bent on defending their beloved homelands. She looked around desperately for something, anything, to take cover behind. Seeing no other possible solution, she went for the wall behind the platform which she had rested against. That is, she would have done such a thing had her legs not shakily given out on her and she fell to the ground with a loud grunt. She tried to get back to her feet, but her vision blurred and an acute dizziness clouded her mind. She was at her limit; running from the Zerg, using the double edged sword drug of the Stim Pack, having wounds festering without proper treatment, the cold, they all sapping her of any remaining strength she had left.
She quietly laid back down on the ground, her eyes looking drowsily up at the encroaching shuttle. She accepted her fate. It was a pity those marines saved her so she could die by the hands of the Protoss, she thought to herself. Psi blades, the weaponry the infantry of their enemy race wielded, floated into her head. She saw them cut through men before; back on the battlefield against them. Would they cut her the same way? If so, would they give her a quick death, or take it painfully slow and let life slip away at a snail's pace?
The shuttle had landed, not thirty yards from her collapsed body. There was no fighting it, she said to herself, just let them capture her and kill her. That was the best she could hope for.
She heard footsteps approach her; heavy, well armored steps. Steps of warriors. Killers. She saw one figure, then two standing over her, looking down at her with glowing orange eyes. She blacked out then, her body apparently giving her the courtesy of not experiencing death's sting.